Not faking
by couldbefake
Summary: Sherlock doesn't know what is happening to his body and why nothing makes him better, he needs help. But will he ask for it? Fluff. (Sherlock isn't too sick.)
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock woke up due to the constant pounding in his head. So he was _still_ sick. He couldn't have this happening when he was so close to solving the case. He got up and got some panadol. Mind over matter. Mind over matter. He couldn't think. He straightened up and looked in the mirror. Too pale, John would notice. Sherlock rummaged around and managed to find some of John's girlfriends foundation. Better but too obvious, he knew this was incredibly stupid but John couldn't know and he had to solve this case. Sherlock fiddled around until he got something that matched his usual skin tone. He got up and went downstairs. He grabbed his coat straight away stopped only momentarily.

"Aren't you going to have breakfast?"

John called out to him from the kitchen. Sherlock realised that even if he wasn't on a case he probably wouldn't be able to stomach anything.

"Can't. I am on a case John."

"Aren't you inviting me?"

"I assumed you would tag along. You always do."

"Ignoring that, actually I can't because I have work, you know to earn money to pay for the apartment and I don't know food?"

"Then why did you ask about the case?"

Sherlock really just wanted to get going so he could come back and sleep.

"Well it is just nice to be invited to things Sherlock."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and instantly regretted it after it brought on a wave of nausea washed over him like a tsunami.

"Yeah ok."

With that he left.

When he arrived at the scene he noticed Anderson and Donovan standing in the door way. He really did not feel like this.

"The freaks arrived."

"Well look who couldn't resist to show off."

Sherlock sighed.

"Not now Donovan why don't you go scrub Anderson's floor."

They looked as they were about to slap him.

"We can't because we are payed to be here."

"They seriously pay you for this? What a waste of money."

He punched Sherlock in the eye and Sherlock had to balance himself for a minute to stop himself from collapsing.

"Oh? Never been punched before freak? Or can you just not handle it?"

Shut up shut up SHUT UP!

"Trust me Anderson I can handle that little whatever you call it."

He was slapped, this time by Donovan.

"Oh wow, she slaps harder than you, it must be the muscles from the floor scrubbing now let me through."

Sherlock was reeling from that second slap. He couldn't see straight.

"I don't think so."

Sherlock really didn't feel like standing out in the cold.

"Please stop being so stupid. Actual lives are at risk and I assume you care? Well maybe not considering you actually like each other."

"Well at least she wants me. Where is your little pet John? Have you told him your little secret?"

Sherlock wanted to just turn around and go home, at the same time he felt like being sick and just laying on the cold concrete.

"Hilarious now please."

He tried to barge past but was grabbed by Anderson.

"We said no."

They pushed him backwards and he fell on his hands and knees. He stayed there for a second arms shaking.

"Freak can't handle a shove!"

Sherlock was having trouble breathing, so he leant back onto his back legs breathing shallowly. He instantly regretted it as he felt a stabbing pain in his chest. Anderson and Donovan saw this as an opportunity to make a joke. They walked over to him and crouched in front of his face crowding him.

"Aw can't handle a fight?"

Sherlock looked up at them the pain in his eyes evident.

"Get away from me."

"Should we get someone?"

"Nah, he is probably faking it to get his pet over here. See."

"Please don't, please don't."

Anderson demonstrated his point by yanking Sherlock to his feet.

"See."

Sherlock was overwhelmed by the motion.

"I am not joking."

Anderson went to boast to Donovan but was interrupted by Sherlock falling against the railing.

"Help please."

"Seriously you can stop now."

"I don't think he's acting."

"Help."

They could see the fear in his eyes before they rolled back into his head as he passed out on the concrete.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn't know what was real and what was just a hallucination. It all blurred together as he drifted in and out of consciousness. It was almost drowned out by the unsteady thumping in his chest.

"Oh my god get Lestrade!"

"Don't sleep."

Black

"Oh thank god, Sherlock stay with me."

"Sherlock I know it's hard but don't sleep."

He seemed to be moving. He looked around overwhelmed by the amount of people surrounding him.

"No John."

He spoke but he didn't know why. He needed John, but no he couldn't know.

"Sir please."

"I need to go with him."

The pain in Lestrade's voice hurt something deep inside of him, just knowing he caused that hurt.

"Only relatives or partners sir."

"He's my uh nephew please let me come."

Then he felt it. He saw the dark spots around the corner of his eyes.

"No."

He tried to sit up in order to stay awake but was pushed back until he fell asleep.

He awoke to the deafening sound of the heart monitor. Beeping beeping. It took him a while before he could open his eyes but when he did he saw Lestrade with the other two in the doorway.

"John?"

Lestrade shook his head.

"You said no John and against all of my instincts I followed your wishes."

Sherlock looked up at Lestrade as if he had all the answers.

"What is wrong with me?"

Lestrade could have sworn he saw a tear in his eye. Donovan looked unimpressed.

"Oh come on sir! He must be playing you!"

Sherlock shook his head then slammed his head back.

"He's right leave."

They were all confused.

"No. He did this before when you said he was faking."

Lestrade looked at them both disapprovingly.

"Now please."

At that point the doctor took Lestrade by himself and told him something that clearly couldn't be anything less than traumatic for the poor D.I.

"Who is going to tell him?"

"I would assume he would rather hear it from the doctor. I don't want him to associate me with the bad news. Sorry just I don't know."

"None taken."

They waked back in the room.

"Do you want them to stay or go?"

Sherlock shrugged and Lestrade decided it was best for them to just go..

"Ok, so you have a bad case of the flu which was left untreated for too long. It is causing symptoms of nausea, fatigue, dizziness, chest and muscle pain. Yes?"

Sherlock nodded.

Neither of them had any idea what the doctor was saying. Seeing as the diagnoses was given they let the others come back in.

"It can't be treated at the moment, but it isn't life threatening, you will just feel these symptoms most of the time. Have you tried normal medicines?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Did they work?"

Sherlock shook his head and felt a wave of sick and bile rise in his throat.

"Bucket buCKET!"

He waved at the bucket in the corner desperately but they weren't quick enough and Sherlock retched all over himself and lay back down in embarrassment. He could hear the giggle of Anderson.

"I know he is a freak but now is not the time. He is in a really bad way and just stop."

"The freak is not dying so what is your problem?"

"Actually, I meant that it isn't fatal right now, but left untreated it may be as it could develop into hypothermia or something like that."

That felt like a slap in the face.

She nodded, things like this just prove that the freak is actually a real human with real raw emotions.

"When will I be able to leave?"

"In one hour."

Sherlock wanted to avoid John so he knew he had to avoid his lunch break. Then he remembered his black eye. That is good enough proof to be in a hospital.

The hour passed slowly everyone in the room feeling awkward and uneasy. But when it was up Sherlock was eager to go. But he didn't run into John. He was somewhat disappointed because he wanted to just tell John everything and get help but he didn't run into him so that settled that argument. Lestrade drove him home and he crashed on the couch wondering how he would deal with this without anyone finding out. No one else could know. Least of all John.

 **AUTHORS NOTE:**

 **So obviously that was a made up illness, yeah that was all I needed to say. Reviews are definitely appreciated. Even "constructive" criticism. Haha yeah. Anyway bye for now!**


	3. Chapter 3

The trek home was not as easy as Sherlock had once anticipated, he was sick and cold. It was made longer by the long line of people collecting their medicines as they always were this time of year, it seemed everyone had a cold. Sherlock waited in the line patiently, trying not to be sick or pass out, again. He slowly made his way closer to the front until one person decided to be picky.

"I am sorry but I cannot give this to my child! I think that I should give my child something milder, you know? Something that won't make him a junkie?"

Sherlock saw the kid clearly in discomfort. He was feverish, dizzy and nauseous. Couldn't she see that her child was clearly uncomfortable?

"He needs a real doctor in a real hospital! Look at your son!"

His voice was about to give out as he felt her eagle eyes bore a hole in his skull.

"Do you think me incapable of raising my own son? Just because some homeless junkie thinks himself better."

Sherlock was majorly annoyed.

"Why don't you just go? I can recommend a doctor who doesn't believe in 'commercial' medicines. Here is his number."

She snatched John's number and he could see that the small boy looked thankful.

Sherlock finally got his medicine then called a cab back to 221B.

"You look like death kid. Want a boost?"

Sherlock didn't know what was happening and if it was real or -

"Wake up! GET OUT!"

Sherlock was awoken by being flung forward when he hit the brakes. He paid the cabbie and tried to walk to the door.

"OI! Where's my tip? Ungrateful sod!"

Sherlock ignored it and walked up to the apartment, up all the sets of stairs. So many stairs. Sherlock was trying to get up the stairs but his chest exploded in painful and he was sick on the stairs. Sherlock went up stairs to get something to clean up with before John got back. When he was finished cleaning he took some pills and swallowed a swig of medicine. He then carefully hid it under his bed.

He went to go do something then collapsed on the couch falling unconscious.

"I am home Sherlock!"

John walked up the stairs with bags of groceries in his hands.

"Dinner time!"

Sherlock thought the sleep and medicines would make him feel better but they just made him feel groggy and gross. He slowly got up into a sitting position. He felt briefly dizzy. He made his way to get dinner though he didn't feel like eating it. He had to eat otherwise John would probably know that something was up. He sat down next to John.

"I have a case for you, from Lestrade, but we have to get there now otherwise they are packing up the body."

Sherlock was thankful that he didn't have to eat the food but was unhappy that he had to go out.

"Ok let's go."

Sherlock tried to keep his voice steady and clear, like his normal voice.

When they got there Sherlock was not happy at the way Lestrade was looking at him.

"I'm fine."

Sherlock crouched down next to the body trying not to wobble over. He quickly deduced the murder and then took off down the stairs to find the nearest alleyway. Everyone else just assumed he needed to find someone or something else. Sherlock spat out bile and continued dry-retching. It was a horrible feeling, feeling on the brink of throwing up but not actually being able to be sick.

"I need John."

He started to head back to the apartment but found himself getting lightheaded. He kept walking though his feet felt like they were made of brick. He walked slower but still moving.

John was getting concerned as Sherlock had been gone for way too long. He decided to go check up on him.

"I'm going to go head out and try to find Sherlock."

John knew he was probably being stupid seeing as this was just the way Sherlock was, always running off and not letting anyone know. He kept going wondering where in the world Sherlock could have gotten to. Then he saw the figure moving closer to him, realising it was Sherlock he sighed in relief.

"Where have you been? You need to stop doing this!"

Sherlock wasn't in the mood for this but he could tell it was going to happen.

"Sorry I had to see something."

"Oh but you couldn't let anyone else know?"

"I didn't have time to think about it John."

"Oh? No time? You are arrogant and you aren't even listening to me are you?"

Sherlock wanted to get home.

"This needs to end! I was worried and I can't help but feel stupid because every time you come back and every time you come back and Anderson and Donovan! Oh do I get it from them!"

Sherlock went to respond but found he couldn't.

"Tongue tied? I don't deserve this! Until you can start to think about me or anyone else I will be at Greg's."

"I do think about you John! Trust me! The last person I think is about me!"

Sherlock was out of breath. His head exploded in pain and his chest felt like it was on fire.

"Sherlock what are you, are you ok?"

He tried to nod but he hunched over trying to stop the pain. He grabbed Johns arms and his legs buckled.

"Yeah fine."

The blackness washed over him like a perfect fix and the perfect medicine. As good as it felt John was once again left alone.


End file.
